


There is a Word

by AlexPrime



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental Baby Yoda Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clan of two, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, On the Run, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post Episode 6- The Prisoner, Survival, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexPrime/pseuds/AlexPrime
Summary: It is an adjustment- going from being so isolated from all, to being so close to one. An adjustment, The Mandalorian supposes, they will just have to learn together. After all, there is no straying from this new, unknown course he’s set them on. The way is dark and increasingly desperate, and all they have is each other now. It will require very careful navigation, lest he get too close.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 278





	1. The Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian reflects on these new circumstances, and what it means for his old way of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is almost entirely canon-divergent post Episode 6- The Prisoner. Elements of future episodes may be incorporated as the show releases, but the plot of 'There is a word' will differ greatly.

He doesn’t dare give it a name.  
  
It’d been a constant shadow at his side for days, trailing after him throughout the silence of his ship in a small whisper of bare feet and soft coos. If it was able to talk, it never did- not in any language he knew. Only the occasional stream of babbling, and the rarer instance of squalling. What it was trying to say, or communicate, or invoke, he wasn’t certain.  
  
He had been around children sparingly, and around infants even less.  
  
They were noisy creatures, he knew. Childhood was an age of discovery. They climbed, they ran, they explored, they learned, they played. The desire for stimulation and curiosity drove them forward, rather than logic or understanding. It waa a foreign concept to him. His life, though rough, was simple. Broken down into neat categories. Complete the job. Move onto the next, and then the next after that. Get paid, keep flying. Keep busy, because idleness leads to death. Support the clan, stay alive. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been driven by anything other than survival.  
  
But that wasn’t exactly _true_ anymore. He had gone against his own professional code for an even deeper moral one. There was some small amount of regret there, but not as much as he thought there would be. Resignation ran truer. A path once taken could not be backtracked; he knew himself committed to this course of action, wherever it may lead him.  
  
His clan was lost to him now. Even if he knew their relocation, he didn’t dare make contact. Not with the kind of heat he’s attracted. He needs to hide. He needs to survive.  
  
They both do.  
  
The decision to rescue the child had been made with haste, but not without certainty. He’d known, somewhere close to the chest, that to damn it to a cruel fate would damn him too. The job lacked honor, from the beginning to the end; it had sat ill with him for the journey to Nevarro. The innocent coos at his back only haunted him, rather than endeared. He’d been desperate to get rid of it; the child was only his business until delivery. It was a job. Be done with it.  
  
It looked at him with trust in it’s eyes.  
  
It’d saved his life.  
  
What he felt, he couldn’t find a name for. If there was a word for that feeling in his chest, and in his gut, he didn’t know it. He’d felt fear in his life before. Pain. Desperation. Concern. Pride. Loyalty. Anger. Rage. Longing. Accomplishment. Loss. Grief. He never felt _this_. It hurt sometimes, but sometimes it did not. The longer it continued, the less it pained him. This feeling that had taken up in him and throbbed and ached was unknown. He wished he knew what it was, so he could get rid of it.  
  
He missed the silence. He missed the way the ship was still and calm and quiet as it drifted between jobs. He never relaxed, even in the solitude of his bare cabin- the paranoia of the child ate at him. Made him tense. Always, his mind turned to the small creature. What it was doing. Where it was. What kind of sounds it was making and what they meant. It took him longer than it should have to tell when it was hungry, or tired, or when it needed to be cleaned. It’s babbling was foreign to him, and he had no understanding which of it’s various needs were being requested at what time.  
  
He hadn’t truly slept in days- not more than the faintest of rests. The paranoia was constant and alarming. He didn’t dare take his helmet off, not even behind closed doors. The child, he learned, had an uncanny ability to follow him throughout the ship, when all logic suggested he should be too small to do so. He does not listen. He does not stay when he is told to.  
  
Perhaps it didn’t understand directions. Perhaps it did and defied them anyways.  
  
There were moments of familiarity between them, although few and far between. It squalled for his attention sometimes; the sound grates at his ears. In the stillness of his ship- his _home-_ all he could think of is _intruder_. Something loud, chaotic, and unpredictable in his sanctuary. So used to the quiet as he was, even the soft sound of it breathing in sleep behind him had him tense. He cannot relax.  
  
Something has to change. He wouldn’t be able to continue like this forever.  
  
The Razor Crest was drifting in the Kowak System, deep in the Sevetta Sector. Not quite as remote as wildspace, but not often-traveled either. Kowak itself was home to a race of monkey-lizards- not malicious, but rumored to be mischievous and problematic. And not his problem, as he didn’t dare land the ship planetside yet. Too many close calls now. Too many mistakes. He’d put as much distance between himself and Ran as he safely could.  
  
He’d made new enemies with the last job. Dangerous enemies, and prison would only hold them for so long. He’d been on the run before- plenty of times, but it seemed only now that he truly felt it. He felt like prey being herded into a corner. Threats on all sides, and so few allies to call upon. Fewer, even, he could name anything close to trustworthy. Those he knew could help, up until it was more advantageous to turn on him. No. The only one he could rely on was himself. Not unused to this, he’d have given it no further thought, but it wasn’t just _himself_ he had to worry about now.  
  
His clan would take them both in, he knew. They would hide them as best they could, and would possibly even be successful… for a time. When the fires rained down, and the guild caught up with him, he would have only himself to blame for all of it. If his clan got hurt- or destroyed… it was an unacceptable loss. The Mandalorian’s were so few in number as it was. He would not look for them, not when he was under such observation. The Bounty Hunter’s guild was everywhere, from the Core to the Outer Rims. So far, he’d been lucky enough to escape it with his life, and the life of the child. That luck wouldn’t hold forever.  
  
They would need to find a place to lay low and hide. Supplies were running sparse, and his ship in less-than-optimal condition. He could handle the hunger, but there was another mouth that needed feeding up. The cockpit reeked of droid- of oil and circuitry. Even with the credits in his pocket from the heist, he didn’t dare spend any. Not so quickly after attracting that kind of attention. The New Republic had spotted him, although they hadn’t engaged at the time. He’d been _noticed. No_. Keep his head down and survive. It always seemed to come back to that.  
  
The child had been asleep, and then it was not.  
  
His awareness of the infant was growing daily to pick out so quickly it’s breathing patterns. The low, deep, even murmuring in it’s sleep had changed; a low grunting- almost growling- as it shifted and sat up. Tired from the exertion of waking up, and drowsy still, but eager and bright-eyed. It let out a coo when it saw him at the ship’s controls, and he turned slightly to look at it through the darkened visor of his helmet. It stared back him just as intently.  
  
After Nevarro, it’d been easier. The knowledge that he was being hunted was old hat, and one he wore well. That was the way of the Mandalorian. Predator and prey both; his life could be ended or continued just as easily as any other, and he’d accepted that long ago. This world of his was deadly, and the old were difficult to find for a reason. Few made it to such a wise age. Fewer wanted to. For him, keeping busy was everything. Even now, it felt strange to drift so still. The urge to move was a powerful one.  
  
And in this case, unwise.  
  
That feeling had been there, between Nevarro and Tatooine. That sensation in his chest that he couldn’t find the word for. He hadn’t been relaxed- _never relaxed_ \- but he’d found himself speaking in low, calm tones to the small creature. To treat it as a child. To treat it as a _foundling_. Even through the paranoia and tense edge that strained at him, he’d found it easier to navigate this new role. He didn’t have a name for that either. Caretaker? Guardian? Keeper? If there was a word for what he was, he wasn’t certain of it. All seemed ill-fitting. Sometimes, he thought himself more akin to a Sentinel. A guard and defender. It didn’t quite sound right, but it eased his mind and reminded him of his role. Protector.  
  
Tatooine changed things. He would not forget the sight of Calican’s weapon trained on the child. He would not forget the surge of panic, thick and potent and nearly debilitating, when he could not find the boy after the threat had been eliminated. He would not forget the way that _unnamed_ _feeling_ in his chest- usually so warm- had turned to knives to stab at him after he’d been found safe.  
  
He hadn’t held the child as they fled the planet together. He hadn’t looked at it more than he had to. On Ran’s Port, it’d been both difficult and simple to leave the child behind, locked as best as he could manage in one of the small cargo holds that served as it’s bed. There was a disturbing lack of focus in his duties because of the boy- it would get them both killed. It nearly had, more than once.  
  
Experience had taught him, time and time again, that a job crew would betray him. They had before, and they would again. Sometimes, he got the jump on them before they had the chance to try. Other times, he waited for their move to act. There was no one in this galaxy that he could trust, other than himself. No one who he could truly count on. His clan was lost to him; they had defended him and the child. He carried that memory warmly, but they were not here now.  
  
And he’d known, accepting this job against his better judgment, that he couldn’t trust this either. He’d known it, and he’d done it anyways. He’d been sloppy and distracted, and he wouldn’t make that same mistake twice. His attention had been torn between the details and the presence of the child aboard the ‘ _Crest_.  
  
_Unacceptable_.  
  
He’d dropped his guard too many times. He’d gotten too close, and being close was deadly. The child likely couldn’t kill him, and even more likely didn’t want to, but that didn’t make it any less dangerous to him.  
  
Mayfield lifting the child, and those knives were digging into him all over again. That damned droid aiming at the child, and the blades stabbed at him. _Danger_ , his mind screamed. _Danger!_ His instinct coiled up like something ready to strike out and defend all at the same time. That feeling in his chest and his gut was crippling him, and distance didn’t help.  
  
Aboard the prison ship, desperation had spurred him forward in a way it hadn’t before. He’d felt desperation many times; for his life, for the lives of his clan, for the job. This feeling was different. Potent and paralyzing. He didn’t know the word for it.  
  
More and more, he was aware that this life was not suited for the child. He’d known it on Nevarro. He’d known it on Sorgan. He’d known it on Tatooine. He’d known it as the _Razor Crest_ played host to four deadly, unpredictable felons.  
  
He knew it now.  
  
And yet, this was the path he had chosen. He was committed to this now, no matter how unsuited he was for the task. No matter how deeply he craved the silence and isolation of his former life. Abandoning what he’d known since childhood for the sake of another. His clan lost to him. His duties gone. His job closed off. Threats from all sides, and so few allies to find. The word about him was spreading, and it would be only a matter of time before the snare closed about his neck.  
  
The sound of cooing, louder and more awake, chimed from behind him. The child was more alert now, having scrubbed the sleep from it’s eyes with it’s small hands. It blinked, ears perking up in such a way that he thought might mean happiness. His dedication to discovering it’s moods had been lacking since Tatooine, his attention switching instead to finding a way to patch the ship. Now, out in the black, he felt lost in the stillness. The idleness ate at him.  
  
Kowak- they could land and he could focus on attempting repairs to the ship. Lay low until the heat cooled off of them. Alone, without something to occupy those ever-intrusive thoughts that preyed on him. The idea was maddening. It would have to be short-term. A week at most. They were still tracking the child, he knew. If it hadn’t been personal before Navarro, it was now.  
  
Or, they could find a port somewhere, try to blend in with the population and restock on supplies. His luck had held so far- he could try to push it further. He could see how long he was able to ride it until it failed. Word was spreading, though; it would be only a matter of time until they were found again. It was becoming clear that there would be no safe haven for them.  
  
“ _Ehh-_ _…_ ” The low murmur was pointed and louder. Not quite a squall, but not as distracted as they normally were. “ _Ehhh—_ ” He turned. The child held out a small silver ball, coated and dripping with drool from being sucked and gnawed on. His reach was so limited, it took a moment for him to realize the control-top was being offered to him at all. The infant was still burrowed deep into his dressings; the small green ears were perked, brown eyes staring intently at him as they peaked over the fabric.  
  
Carefully, he took the makeshift toy. The coo he received was distinct and pleased.  
  
“Thank you.” The Mandalorian told the child softly.  
  
That feeling in his chest was back, warm and hurting and distracting. He didn’t know a word for it, no matter how he tried to hunt for one.  
  


* * *

  
**To be continued...**


	2. The Taking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian attempts ship repairs on Kowak, and is frequently interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is almost entirely canon-divergent post Episode 6- The Prisoner. Elements of future episodes may be incorporated as the show releases, but the plot of 'There is a word' will differ greatly.

Through the shower of sparks, he focused intently on the wiring of the circuitry; at the frayed ends and the cracked connectors. The hull was compromised, but it was the internal components he focused on now. A fire was the last thing they needed for few things were more deadly in the black of space. It was delicate work; one he was less-suited to than he’d have preferred. Even within a clan of warriors, they had their own skillset. His hadn’t ever been towards the intricate work of mechanics. A patch job wasn’t ideal, but it was all he could do for now.   
  
It felt good to work with his hands again- technology was largely hands-off now, and it’d been days since he’d been out of the confines of the _‘Crest_. The work at hand was complicated and difficult, but it kept his attention in a refreshing way. He’d been distracted lately, and that was unacceptable. For the majority of his life, he’d honed himself into a fine tool, and an even finer weapon.  
  
The mechanics of his ship were not unfamiliar to him- he knew the _Razor Crest_ inside and out. It’d been his home for years now; this wasn’t the first time he’d had to work repairs on it. However, he’d always had the option, and often the funds, to hire skilled laborers in the field. Weaponry and armor, he knew well, but he was little more than a novice with something as detailed as ship circuitry. Enough to get by, but little more.   
  
However, there was time enough to remain unrushed, and time could be traded for skill, if he kept patient enough. Don’t waver in focus; focus on one task, and then the task after that. A problem was only as easy as the detail that went into solving it. It wasn’t so much different from any other job-  
  
 _Crack._   
  
The Mandalorian lifted the solder gun from the wires before he melted them- instinctively he went for his blaster, and tilted his head to glance behind- and then down.  
  
Two large brown eyes stared up at him from below his knees. The child, who he had already had to remove from the hazards of the work-zone twice now, reached out with his three-fingered had and stretched upwards. It burbled softly as it shuffled closer. For a moment, he thought it wanted to be lifted up- it often held its hands up to him when it wanted to be held. It had loudly squalled at him this morning over that very issue. If it was that again- but then he realized the eyes were trained not on him, but on the solder gun.   
  
“No.” He said calmly, pulling the tool further out of reach to illustrate the point. “This isn’t a toy. It’s dangerous.”   
  
The tiny hand stretched after the gun desperately, and the expression on the small green face was determined. Likely, it’d been the sparks that had triggered it’s curiosity. Bright lights raining down from the ship. A tempting lure for any child, let alone an infant. He’d noticed the little one had been drawn towards the buttons on his ship. A problem he’d yet to find a fix for. Distractions seemed to work for a time; he’d learned quickly what makeshift toys could be gathered from tools and items- but it was only a temporary solution. The child’s attention span was limited.   
  
The Mandalorian reached down, grasping the back of the sack-like shift the child wore and lifted it into the air. It squealed in delight as it was moved- which became a squall as it realized quickly it was being taken away from the tools and back towards the small hollowed log he’d been using as a makeshift crib. This was the fourth time that it had climbed out of it, despite the opening being at least twice as tall as the child was. He hadn’t figured out yet how the child had managed it. Climbing, perhaps? There were certainly enough roots scattered around for it.  
  
Kowak, thus far, hadn’t impressed him at all. The humid, tropical climate clung sweat to him immediately upon exiting the _‘Crest_. The air felt heavy and hot and difficult to breathe for long- like being in a bath of steam. He could feel, even from beneath his helmet, the thick breeze- which managed to only warm the air, rather than cool it. A few hours planetside and his flightsuit clung to him, drenched in dew, in sweat, and from the humidity of the jungle. It chafed unpleasantly beneath his armor, which had never felt so heavy to him before.   
  
He should have picked a desert or a tundra. Somewhere less humid, and with a better vantage point. Surrounded on all sides by thick, lush trees, he’d be unable to see an enemy before they were right on them. The natives hadn’t bothered them so far, but that didn’t mean the landing of the _Razor Crest_ had gone unnoticed. The Monkey-Lizards were a concern, but the larger predators, the Ape-Lizards, were what he worried about the most. Semi-sentient creatures, both of them, and able enough to attack with some sort of strategy if they so wished. He’d encountered the domesticated variety with limited intelligence, but he’d never been to Kowak before. Here, they were feral and that made them all the more dangerous.   
  
Possibly, the arrival of the ship had scared them off. Or possibly, they were scouting the clearing out and waiting until the right moment to attack. Difficult to say, but his awareness was always on the trees around him, and his fingers itched to take up the blaster at a seconds notice.   
  
He’d always carried a distaste for rainforests. If possible, he’d preferred to take jobs that didn’t include them at all. If he were alone, there may have been the opportunity to shed layers and cool off. He’d have given anything, even for a moment, to take his helmet off to wipe the sweat from his eyes. But not now. Not with those curious brown eyes always hunting for him. He hadn’t taken his helmet off in days, and the grime beneath was coming up on the wrong side of intolerable.  
  
He’d thought that the longer the infant was with him, the easier it would be to be alone and return to some semblance of normalcy. Those chaotic first days had been simple in hindsight, and he regretted not taking advantage of them. The child had allowed him to sleep, eat, and bathe alone. He’d been able to leave the boy unattended for short periods of time without much concern. And on Sorgan, it’d been a welcome respite- having the girl and the other children in the small village take over childminding for a time. There, his paranoia had warred with his desire to be alone, and had been overruled by the latter. The villagers were far more suited to the task of watching the little one than he was, and it’d been _nice_ having the option of being around the child or to be solitary.   
  
No longer did he have options- the child wasn’t allowing him the freedom of any. It had gone against his predictions and had, instead, become _needy_. It seemed to be under his foot every time he stepped, and squalling when it was left by itself. Even when it awoke, those brown eyes seemed to look for him immediately, and it babbled and cooed happily upon finding him in sight. He’d learned quickly that leaving it while it was sleeping was a chaotic dice roll at best- it sometimes continued to rest, and other times, it woke up immediately, voicing its displeasure.   
  
The times when he _was_ alone, it was hardly enjoyable. The _‘Crest_ wasn’t a large ship, and the crying not only echoed throughout, but was even magnified by it.   
  
The child babbled and reached for him now as he set it into the hollowed stump. He’d given it things to play with. A piece of wood, blankets, the balltop of the ship console, but the little one didn’t seem interested in any of them.   
  
“You need to stay here.” The Mandalorian said, evading the small three-fingered grasp as it stretched out desperately. “It’s not safe for you near the ship right now.”   
  
The small green ears rose and lowered and repeated, and he’d yet to figure out what they meant, if anything. He wondered often whether it comprehended anything he said. Did it understand directions? Did it understand anything at all? It looked at him when he spoke to it, and seemed to know that it was being addressed, but that didn’t tell him much. After all, it enjoyed looking at him every waking moment as well, if it wasn’t fascinated by some new curiosity. Thus far, each instruction and command was ignored entirely. Were all children so disobedient?   
  
He didn’t remember much from when he was a child, before his _cin vhetin_ ; he’d been little more than eight when he’d been taken in by the clan, and memories prior to that were foggy. But he couldn’t remember disobeying his parents like the little one did to him. However, he wasn’t the child’s parent. Perhaps the distinction made things different.   
  
“I’ll be right over there. I’m not going far. You need to stay in here.” He instructed firmly, pointing a finger into the makeshift crib. “You need to-” The child gripped his finger firmly and squealed at having caught him.   
  
The Mandalorian sighed.   
  
Extracting his hand wasn’t difficult. The baby’s grip wasn’t strong enough to keep him there. Walking away from the crib to desperate squalling was… more difficult. It put back that wordless feeling in his gut and chest; the one that hurt instead of warmed him. Pathetic; he knew better than to become sentimental. There was a difference between protecting and caring, and knew not to let the former become the latter.   
  
He’d already made the sin of turning business into personal, and that decision had cost him his career, his freedom, and his clan. More and more, it was becoming clear just how much he’d given up for the child; an infant that didn’t even belong to him. Sometimes, he replayed that day on Nevarro in his head and wondered how differently he could have worked it. Or at other times, when attempting to soothe the child to sleep, he wished he never would have taken the bounty at all.   
  
Wishes were useless. Regrets were useless. He would entertain neither. A path once taken could not be backtracked. For better or ill, he’d done what he’d done and he would remain committed to it. Keep the child safe. Keep flying.   
  
For the moment, he could focus on the circuitry. He could lose himself in the focus of work and pretend the rest of his life was in the same neat order it had been only weeks ago. It was easier to compartmentalize that way. It was easier to-  
  
His foot nudged something small and easily-moved. He didn’t have to glance down to know what it was.   
  
“I told you to stay.”   
  
“ _Ehh-_ ” The brown eyes stared at the solder gun, one small hand reaching for it and the other gripping tight to the fabric of his flightsuit. It was sitting, having fallen back when he’d nearly stepped on it, and the sight made that feeling ache. It never failed to startle him how small the child was, and just how fragile. It didn’t even come up to his knee. That so much chaos had come as a result of such a tiny creature…  
  
“No,” The Mandalorian sighed softly, and set aside the solder gun. If this kept up, he’d never get any repairs done on the ship at all. “I could have stepped on you. This area isn’t safe to have you under my feet.” He lifted the child up into his arms fully, and it babbled and cooed and stretched his small hands out for the tools. The Mandalorian led him back towards the stump, which he knew now was ineffective at best.   
  
“Do you understand anything I say at all?” Without the distraction of the tempting tools, the infant turned its attention back to him. The hairy ears perked and twitched and it’s head tilted up to stare at him. He couldn’t tell if there was comprehension in those eyes or not. If it could answer him, it didn’t. It only made a low growling, purring sound. The Mandalorian thought it might be out of contentment, but he wasn’t certain. It cycled through a variety of sounds frequently, and he’d guessed wrong multiple times already.   
  
Battle was easier than this. Even the worst battles were easier than this.   
  
“Please stay here. Stay. Do you understand? This-” He pointed with an exasperated finger at the inside of the log. “-is your spot. Over there is mine. You need to stay in your spot.”  
  
He had mere minutes before the child would be back to sabotage him; he had to hurry to finish _something_. Even one component fixed would be a winning success at this rate. He’d take a break afterwards and give it attention, he vowed. Feed it, clean it up, and then get it down to sleep. If he kept in close proximity, he might even be able to finish up the rest of the ship. The absurdity wasn’t lost on him, although he wasn’t in a humorous kind of mood. He only felt frustration. Since when did his life revolve around the sleeping habits of an unpredictable child?   
  
He missed the quiet. He missed the freedom. The silence of his life was shattered by the constant interruptions and the constant noise. It was impossible to relax or let his guard down for even a second. He’d been accused before of being _wound tight_ , but he felt ready to snap now. He felt he was a thread pulled so taught, and fraying more and more by the second.   
  
Something had to change. This couldn’t be borne much longer.  
  
It was only a minute into the repairs when he heard, with paranoid and wary ears, the quiet _pad-pad-pad_ of small feet on the jungle floor. It was back, and the Mandalorian was already mentally gathering himself to confront the child again when, with a sharp, forceful tug from his hands, the solder gun went flying.   
  
He didn’t have time to shout as he whirled around. One hand went for his blaster, and the other for the tool, ripping swiftly through the air. His first thought was that he was under attack, and that the gun could make for a clumsy but dangerous weapon in the right hands. His second instinct rose up even faster, eyes taking in the scene just as quickly and catching- just barely- the gun before the tiny green hand could.   
  
With a hiss of pain, he tore the tool out of the air. The red-hot tip melted through the leather of his glove and into the skin beneath, and he resisted the urge to swear as he dropped it onto the jungle floor. He had burn salve in the _‘Crest_ , it wasn’t a bad wound by any means, but burns on tactile parts of the body were nasty and painful.  
  
“ _Nnh._ ” The soft babbling as the child looked at him, arm still outstretched. It was sitting down now and was blinking heavily; it looked dazed and tired from the exertion. The three-fingered hand wavered in the air before falling heavily to its side, ears lowering. Tired eyes peered up and it cooed.   
  
“No.” He commanded, fighting down the irritation and the swift spark of anger. “I said _no_. You do not take things. You could- you _would have_ gotten hurt.” Complete incomprehension from the baby. It didn’t understand, and that meant it wouldn’t stop. Not explanations or firm words would make it get that this wasn’t some sort of game to play.   
  
Hand throbbing beneath the burnt leather of his glove, the Mandalorian reached down, and gripped the back of the little one’s sack-like clothing. It didn’t squeal as it was carried back towards the hollow stump. Perhaps he’d managed to instill _something_ of the seriousness onto the child, but he suspected more that the baby had worn itself out. Good. It’d fall asleep soon, and he’d be able to work in some sort of peace and quiet.   
  
After being lowered into the nest of blankets and makeshift toys, the infant finally seemed to realize that it was being once-again removed from where it wanted to be, and began to stir itself back to neediness. The tiny hands reached up for him, desperate puffs of air escaping the green mouth. That motion was familiar; it wanted to be held. But not only did he have work to do, but he had to attend to the burn on his hand.   
  
He took a few steps back to give some distance, despite that pit in his gut hollowing him through again. _Blast.  
  
_ The child shuffled forward, and began to lever himself up the side of the log to escape. There were small pockets in the wood, likely made from some sort of burrowing insect. So, that’s how it was getting out. He glowered down, scowling behind the helmet. He missed the quiet. He missed being alone. He missed not having to worry constantly.   
  
An idea struck.   
  
The worn panel wasn’t heavy- it wasn’t part of the outer hull of the ship, but one of the inner component covers- but it was heavy enough that the kid wouldn’t be able to lift it. For not the first time, he regretted not taking the pram from Nevarro. Closing the child up inside to keep it in place had been a saving grace on more than one occasion. He’d have to make a new one, or commission something like it.   
  
If the child used… _whatever_ _it was,_ it’d be able to lift the panel without any trouble, but he hoped the infant had worn itself out enough to be prevented. It was an inelegant solution, and hardly a good fix, but it would work well enough for the moment. He really only needed it temporarily; likely the child would fall asleep soon anyways. The darkness might even help it along.   
  
Lifting the flat metal panel from the _‘Crest_ , the Mandalorian lowered it down over the opening of the log to close the child inside. It stared up at him desperately and stretched out it’s hand as the shadow of the panel covered it-   
  
_-darkness filling the storage cellar as he stretched a desperate hand out. Don_ _’t go, come back- please, please come back!-_  
  
The Mandalorian ripped the panel off the log, shoving it forcibly to the side. His breath came out fast and loud from beneath his helmet, and the sweat he’d gathered from Kowak suddenly turned cold, pouring down his spine as if he’d been drenched in ice. That wordless feeling in his stomach and chest felt paralyzing now, and all he could do was stare down at the child that stared up at him, babbling tiredly to be held.   
  
His hand didn’t shake as he reached in and lifted the little one out. If it tried to, he told himself it was only from the burn on his palm.   
  
The baby chuffed and murmured at him in tired pleasure, fingers gripping into the fabric of his flak vest between the spacing of the _beskar'gam_ as he held it close. It didn’t seem to be afraid or upset; it laid it’s head on his chest and blinked heavy eyes. The excitement of the landing, the new environment, and the constant escapes and attempted escapes, and that… _whatever it was_ , had clearly worn the little one out. By now, the Mandalorian was- if not _proficient-_ at least was okay with getting it to sleep.   
  
“I’m sorry.” He said softly, patting gently at the child’s back with his uninjured hand. He’d found days prior that seemed to help it drift off the most. It seemed to be working now, as the infant burbled and made that contented purring, snorting sound. “It’s not your fault you don’t understand.”  
  
Kids were curious and frequently stupid. He knew this, and knew himself enough to keep well away from them. He had little tolerance for frivolity and playfulness- it didn’t do anything to better his own life and he’d long-since cut out what wasn’t useful to him. The energy and enthusiasm children applied to their own lives was helpful to their development, but he lacked the patience to indulge them in it. There were others far more suited to childminding than he was, and the Foundlings were better off in their capable hands.   
  
He didn’t dislike children, far from it. They were a necessary and valuable part of life, and were to be protected and cherished. But they were loud, messy, and prone to disobedience. He had no place in his life for any of that.   
  
But he was, however, all this particular child had. How strange and how ill-fitting for someone such as himself. It didn’t sit right with him, and that _feeling_ in him even less so.   
  
It filled him now, but instead of paralyzing and painful, it was warm and soft. It hurt almost as much, but differently. There was only a sliver of brown visible, the faintly-pink lids having closed over them almost completely. He’d been right, the child had been exhausted. Too much excitement for one day.  
  
Carefully, moving so as to not jostle it, he lowered the child back into the log- after extracting the fingers from his flak vest gingerly. It slept on, breathing softly. The nest of blankets created a cocoon- hadn’t he heard it called a swaddle?- and the baby shuffled into the warmth in its sleep.   
  
That wordless feeling _throbbed_.   
  
The circuitry felt strange to return to. He wasn’t used to the constant stream of interruptions to his work, but now found it felt oddly empty without them. His relief warred with that feeling in his chest, which frustrated him. He knew conflict, both external and internal. He hadn’t expected to find it from the child; something so small and fragile. This wasn’t a war. It wasn’t a battle. It wasn’t even a difficult decision or an internal debate of strategy. This was… something else. Something he couldn’t find a word for, no matter how he stretched to find one.   
  
It was a distraction, and those were useless. He knew better than to fall prey to sentimentalism and keep useless things. The Mandalorian focused back on the circuitry, ignoring the burn in his hand, and went back to work. _Focus_. Block out the rest and work. It was pathetic that his usually sharp concentration was so dulled after only a few weeks with the child; he was better trained than this.   
  
It didn’t work for a long while- his attention was divided between the components of his ship and the sounds of the child sleeping. His paranoia was ever-present, constantly scanning the clearing for danger to the baby and himself. But eventually, he fell into old patterns of work, and blocked out all that wasn’t important. The restful breathing, the birdcalls of the jungle forest, the crackling of the solder gun as he welded back cracked connectors.   
  
He-   
  
_Crack_.   
  
For a split moment, he thought it was the child, back to toddle beneath his feet. But it wasn’t coming from behind it, it was coming from in front. To the north, behind the large mass of his ship. _Crack- crk-_ Branches snapped as something moved through the trees, a swift skittering sound in the boughs. Immediately, his concentration honed in on the sound, and kept track of it as it traveled. He couldn’t see it from here, not a good vantage point. _Blast_. His hand was already at his blaster, and he tugged it free sharply. The weight was an old friend, reliable and ready.   
  
Circling the ship partially, blaster lifted, he scanned the trees. Nothing. Not a rustle of the leaves, and the cracking was gone now. Birds, maybe, but he didn’t think so. Birds didn’t often snap branches.   
  
Fingers tapping to the side of the trigger, he analyzed the clearing. The birdcall had stopped, a sign that something _had_ been nearby. An animal? A Bounty Hunter? An _Imperial_? Suspicion ate at him.   
  
But whatever it was, no longer made a sound. He wasn’t sure if that meant it was gone, or if it was simply staying still. The clearing was calm and quiet.  
  
 _Completely_ quiet.   
  
The Mandalorian whirled and bolted for the hollowed log. The blankets, he could see, were half-spilled out, laying limply against the wood. He knew what he’d see before he even got there.   
  
Nothing.   
  
Empty.   
  
He went still as panic set in for a moment- _just a moment_ \- before it was replaced with a familiar companion.   
  
Cold, burning rage.   
  


* * *

**  
To be continued..**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Dictionary::
> 
> cin vhetin  
> \--A term indicating the erasing of a person's past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards
> 
> beskar'gam  
> —Armor


	3. The Retrieval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian finds the child and an unwelcome visitor arrives to Kowak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is almost entirely canon-divergent post Episode 6- The Prisoner. Elements of future episodes may be incorporated as the show releases, but the plot of 'There is a Word' will differ greatly.

Darkness on all sides, blocking his sight through the tint of his visor. With a click of his gauntlet, he activated the light of his _buy'ce,_ illuminating the trees around him with a cool glow. Not good; his vision was too limited here; it would make tracking more difficult than it should have been.  
  
Although the clearing had been bright and open, the jungle surrounding it was not. Large, tangled roots twisted around him, moss and lichen draping down through the branches like curtains. The plant life was a lush green, but sneaking and vine-like, tripping his every step. It too was trying to escape the darkness and stretch upwards towards the light, which was completely blocked out by the gnarled branches and leafy treetops.  
  
Footing was treacherous here; his step was prevented by tangles of wood and creeping plants and moss. His boots sunk deep into the mud, sticking him there. If anything, the inner-jungle was even more humid. The Mandalorian could feel the sweat and moisture cling to his face and drip down beneath the collar of his flightsuit. The wrap about his head was soaked within seconds. No breeze here; even a warm one. The air was heavy and difficult to breathe in.  
  
He’d activated his HUD, scanning the ground and the treetops for heat signatures. There were dozens of them; the forest was thriving and very much alive. Birds and insects, some sort of furry, nesting animals, and reptiles. He was surrounded on all sides with possible threats, and his paranoia ate at him. These were not what he was tracking however. No, that would be the heat signatures he could see retreating to the east as quickly as they could.  
  
His boot hit another root, nearly tripping him. He couldn’t keep his HUD on and look where he was going at the same time; it was one or the other, and he had to focus on his own surroundings as well.  
  
It’d been a mistake coming here; he knew that now. A mistake to think that even a planet of dumb primates would be safe for them. There’d been no clear vantage point, and no reliable exits. It’d gone against all of his training to land at all, but the necessity of repairs and supplies were vital. Get in, get out. His plan had been to leave at dawn; it’d give them enough time to escape the cramp confines of the ship and for him to analyze the condition of their equipment.  
  
If only the child were old enough to follow basic commands, or even younger so as to stay where he put it- _no._ No, this wasn’t on the little one, this was on him. He was the child’s protector for the time being. As undesirable and inconvenient as it was, and as _unsuitable_ as he was, he was all the kid had. He should have been watching more closely. He should have been faster. Been _better_.  
  
The bubbling rage in him hadn’t dulled, but it’d cooled into a freezing boil. His finger _tap-tap-tapped_ at the trigger of his blaster, a reliable and familiar friend in his hand. Whoever had taken the child would be dealt with swiftly and without mercy; he had a code of honor but that same code demanded brutal justice towards those who would harm an innocent. There would be no chances given, nor negotiations offered.  
  
It’d have been easier if he could call out to the child; to call its name and attempt to glean its condition. He didn’t know that name- if it even had one- and he’d never given it one himself. The idea had seemed too personal and intimate. Names were reserved for family and mates. Certainly, he protected his own name tightly. His clan knew of it, although spoke it infrequently, and even less so throughout the years. As a child, he recalled his guardian and sponsor using it with formal familiarity more often. It had encouraged a traumatized boy to find comfort in a stranger.  
  
Perhaps it was something he would have to revisit, naming the child. There may be merit in it after all.  
  
Following the trail in the mud wasn’t difficult for him; many small somethings had crashed through the brush and wood in a herd or a pack. He’d tracked bounties through the galaxy with far less to go on, and had come out successful from it. This was easy, although the stakes felt higher. This was not his own life he was risking, but that of the child’s.  
  
The Mandalorian bent swiftly, examining the clearest of the prints in the thick mud with the light of his helmet. Long, bony toed feet pointing off into sharp claws. Not difficult to guess, although he’d never tracked these particular creatures before. Kowakian Monkey-Lizards. He’d been concerned that it’d been something more deadly. The use of distraction had been well-thought; he hadn’t suspected them to be capable of intelligent deception.  
  
If they hurt the child…  
  
If they _killed_ it…  
  
He gritted his teeth and surged forward all the faster, his pace impeded by the thick growth of trees and moss. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, stinging at them. Focus. Find the child, get back to the ship. Kowakian Monkey-Lizards weren’t overly dangerous, but they were able to do a great deal of harm if they wanted. The kid was small and vulnerable enough to be greatly injured if the creatures weren’t careful. And he knew, with a furious pit in his gut, that those beasts wouldn’t take care into consideration.  
  
If it came to a fight, he’d be at a disadvantage. The jungle was dense enough for movement to be difficult, and all the moss-covered branches were damp and slick. They had the ability to climb and scale into the trees, and he was unable to match them there.  
  
He-  
  
A high-pitched squall off to his right, muffled by the lichen and branches of the rainforest. The Mandalorian recognized it immediately, something chilling and cold trickling down his spine. He immediately broke off from his path and into a dead sprint. Covert tracking was no longer useful to him; now was the time for immediacy. He’d heard the child cry out before, for hunger, attention, or cleanliness, but this was different. Sharper. He feared what that meant, and that pit in his gut threatened to swallow him down.  
  
“ _Kid!_ ” He shouted into the darkness. It was almost impossible to see; his light shook wildly as he hurtled over the fallen logs and slid on the slippery moss of hidden roots. The vines tangled around him, and he shook his head wildly to clear the stinging sweat from his eyes.  
  
Cruel snickers broke out, surrounding him from all sides, and The Mandalorian paused, raising his blaster. The laughter was pitched high enough that it hurt his ears to hear it. They were raspy and feral sounding, animalistic in nature, and he counted at least a dozen of them. Difficult to be certain; they weren’t in sight. His vision here was limited; only a beam of light to illuminate spots of the jungle and blackness surrounding the rest of him. The HUD was telling enough to track their signatures, but they darted so quickly about him that it was almost impossible to tell exactly how many.  
  
The squalling was louder, but so was the laughter. He could hear them now- not just their voices but the movement of them in the branches above him. He didn’t dare shoot, for fear of hitting the child by mistake. That’d been the first lesson drilled into him as a boy; never fire without being certain of the target. He knew better than to shoot blindly.  
  
The squall began again, this time to his left. He audibly tracked it, as it moved and circled him. One of them had the baby, then, and they were moving swiftly. This was not out of hostility then; these creatures were seeking to play some sort of sick game. They didn’t know what it was they had, only that he’d been protecting it. This made it _interesting_ to the animals; they couldn’t resist mischief.  
  
He didn’t relax- not for a _second_ \- but the hollow, freezing sensation in his gut felt less consuming than before. There was danger here, yes, but there wasn’t pointed aggression.  
  
“Give it back.” He said seriously. His hand gripped tightly to his blaster, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.  
  
The laughter increased around him- as did the crying. Something skittered in the trees above him, and he didn’t so much as move a muscle. He kept staring forward, as if blind to the creature he could tell was scaling down the tree. He could hear its claws, gripping into the bark. It was going for his blaster to remove the immediate threat.  
  
Good.  
  
Let it try.  
  
In the peripherals of his visor, he could see a pale, spindly hand emerge from the shadows and into the dim light of his helm. Another of the creatures was inching towards him across a nearby log; he could hear its feet in the mud.  
  
Wait.  
  
Just wait-  
  
With a snarl, he reached out and gripped tight to the hand, crushing it beneath his gloves as he ripped it off the tree. It squealed in pain and lashed out with the powerful, whip-like tail. The same moment he fired at the Monkey-Lizard on the ground, he spun and smashed the head of the beast into the truck of a tree. It dangled limply, its skull more mush than bone now.  
  
The laughter in the trees was gone now, turning to bestial snarls and growls. He didn’t have time to relish ruining their enjoyment before they were rushing at him, high-pitched shrieks deafening him.  
  
One was on his back, and he threw himself backwards to dislodge it- another one was darting off of a branch and towards his helmet. Thin, hooked fingers reached beneath to claw at him, and he hissed in pain as they cut through the skin of his jaw. He couldn’t see- one was covering the visor, and the light reflecting against the stomach of the animal was blinding him after so long in the dark.  
  
He could hear the child crying, louder than before. Louder and closer.  
  
The Mandalorian, smashed himself backwards, crushing the creature on his back and then dove forward- his helmet took the brunt of the blow into the mud, but the animal on his visor wasn’t as lucky. He could feel it break beneath the force of the _beskar._ Claws were scrabbling at his legs, cutting through his flightsuit, and he felt the sharp beak of one of the beasts break through the flesh of his calf. With a roar, he sprang from the mud, snatching the animal and twisting its head around entirely.  
  
He tugged his Amban rifle from his back, but even as he spun it, it slammed ineffectively against the trees. He was in too tight of quarters to use it; the length was getting tangled in the vines and ferns. The vermin used it as a branch, leaping towards him with claws extended, and so he tossed the rifle to the side.  
  
Another.  
  
And another after that.  
  
He was more than a match for them, he knew. They’d have been easy to dispose of if he just had _room_ to move. The light of his helm was coated in mud, only spots of lumination flashing across twisting roots. He couldn’t _see_ anything, couldn’t tell where they were or where they were striking from. They wouldn’t ever be able to kill him, or even seriously hurt him. But it wasn’t _him_ he was concerned about. He could take the brunt of anything the animals could try. The child couldn’t, and it sounded scared already.  
  
Fury was building, bubbling dangerous and hot now. The child was squalling louder than before, more sharply. He could hear it behind him, lower to the ground. The vermin had come down, either to join the attack or to watch it. He knew they found amusement in sick games.  
  
He activated the HUD display, and the world flickered to life around him with life-signatures. He wouldn’t be able to see his position, but he’d be able to see theirs. A trade-off he was willing to take. They were regrouping in the trees, either to flee or to attack again. Nine of them in total; they were beginning to circle once more, unaware that he was now able to see them. But there were _ten_ signatures. One was carrying a small bundle in its hands.  
  
He could see something smear onto the wood of the branches from that bundle, wet and hot. His blood ran cold, and that nameless, wordless feeling felt crippling.  
  
Take aim. Steady. He couldn’t see his surroundings clearly; this violated every bit of training he’d ever had. _Focus_. He could see the animal moving, its head turned to watch him through the leaves. The bundle was moving too, a three-fingered hand waving pitifully. Wait until the vermin poked its head from around the tree- if he missed- _he wouldn_ _’t miss-_ it’d provide some protection for the child. He’d have only one shot, or they’d flee and take the child with them.  
  
Take aim.  
  
Steady.  
  
_Fire_.  
  
At the same time as he ignited the flames from his gauntlet to provide light, the Mandalorian pulled the trigger. He could see, in that split instant of illumination, that pale, beaked face sneaking from behind the tree, peering at him. He barely noticed the blinding flames as they licked at the wet wood around him.  
  
What _was_ noticeable was the sudden agonized scream of pain in the air, as the animal, with the bundle in its arms, fell from the tree and into the mud below. The other Monkey-Lizards chittered and snarled and crept around him, but they were retreating higher into the trees, nursing the wounds of their defeat. The flames had scared them off for the moment.  
  
For a beat, other than the cracking of fire attempting to ignite wet wood, there was only silence. He didn’t waste time; he squelched through the mud of the jungle floor towards the dead creature and the bundle. It wasn’t moving. Neither of them were.  
  
That wordless feeling felt sick and cold; he could feel it in his throat at the same time as his stomach seemed to drop-  
  
But as he approached, he could see in the dying flames that the bundle of brown cloth _was_ moving now, the tiny three-fingered hand twitching and reaching out. A whimper began, which began to grow towards a cry as he collapsed to his knees in the mud beside the baby.  
  
It looked dazed, more than anything. The drop had likely jolted it, even if the landing hadn’t been rough. The ground was soft enough that he didn’t think it likely to have broken anything. Brown eyes were blinking up at him, the small, green face crinkled up in distress. He could see one long ear was bleeding. Not badly. Not fatally. Nothing more than a scratch, but green blood oozed out and slid down the child’s skin into the mud-soaked coverings.  
  
The baby spotted him immediately, and the crying only increased rather than quieted. It reached for him desperately, and this time, urged on by that awful feeling, he lifted it up into his arms.  
  
“ _Shh._ ” The Mandalorian said quietly, hitching it higher up so that it was resting against his chest and shoulder. “ _Shh_ , quiet. I’ve got you. It’s alright.” As he spoke, the squalling was loud enough in his ears that he could barely hear himself. He’d heard the child cry before; many times now, but not quite like this. He wasn’t entirely certain what to do; this wasn’t the same as a cry for attention or food.  
  
“That was an adventure, hmm?” He stood, fetching his rifle from the mud. He’d need to clean it thoroughly before he dared fire it again. Frustration and resignation welled up in him; he’d only _just_ recently done this, after the Mudhorn. “You’re a magnet for trouble.”  
  
The small hands were gripping to the front of his armor and digging into his flak vest tightly. The little one’s face was pressed in as if to get as close to him as possible, and he felt that wordless ache again- warmer now, but no less painful. The firelight was dying; any dry twigs or plants had been burnt off, and it couldn’t gain purchase against the damp wood of the jungle. They needed to leave, before the Kowakian Monkey-Lizards grew bold again.  
  
He stopped only to gather the salvageable corpses of the creatures, stringing them up onto his back. He couldn’t hear anything except shrill cries in his ear, and he couldn’t see much either. Now that the child was safe in his arms, he felt better. Still fiercely protective, still _furious_ , but no longer did that pit in his gut threaten to swallow him. It was easier to focus with the baby a light weight against his chest, even through the squalling.  
  
Ten minutes into tripping through the tangle of jungle, his mood had shifted back to irritation. A headache was throbbing at the back of his skull, and his body stung from the scratches and bites. The sweat was dripping into his eyes from beneath the helmet, he had to blink furiously to keep them clear enough to see. He hated the jungle, the Mandalorian decided. He would not return here, or anywhere like here, ever again.  
  
Checking his visor HUD every few moments to make certain they continued on the right path, he was aware of the baby in his arms. It wasn’t crying much anymore, but it was letting out soft whimpers and pained whines. How he’d gotten it to stop mewling in his ear, he wasn’t certain. Patting it gently on the back and rubbing gentle circles had helped. Murmuring to it in a low voice had helped even more.  
  
This would be filed away for further use. Hopefully this situation wouldn’t occur again- in fact, he _vowed_ it wouldn’t- but knowing how to soothe the baby down from a serious fit was handy to know.  
  
The light was almost blinding when he finally stepped out into the open clearing that held the _‘Crest_. The breeze, even warm and humid as it was, felt like cool bliss after being trapped in the dense heat of the jungle. He could feel it beneath his helmet, cooling the flushed skin of his face. The Mandalorian closed his eyes and breathed steadily, relieved at the sensation; he allowed himself to enjoy very little in life, but some moments were pleasant enough to be worth the time to appreciate.  
  
“ _Nguh_ _…_ ” _  
  
_He opened his eyes and tilted his helmet to the side to examine the baby; it was staring up at him, tugging on its injured ear with a small, mud-covered hand. It wasn’t the only muddy thing, either; they were both coated in it, from head to toe. His own cape hung heavy on his shoulders from the weight of it, and the child’s coverings were squelching unpleasantly.  
  
“I bet that hurts.” He told the little one. The cut had stopped bleeding, but it was still covered in dirt and grime from the fight in the jungle. “We need to clean up before I can fix it.” He didn’t know if it would get infected. He didn’t even know if it had been caused by the creatures or the branches they’d swung through. Either way, he wouldn’t take chances. He wasn’t a medic; his skills in healing were minimal and didn’t extend beyond emergency field medicine. Even so, he knew better than to allow mud to stay inside an open wound.  
  
It’d have been easier to gather the supplies if he’d been able to put the child down. It had none of it; clinging tightly to him and crying when he tried to set it aboard the _Razor Crest_ safely. Having to do things one-handed reminded him far too much of the times he’d injured himself and had to make do with limited mobility. Comparing the infant to a temporary disability wasn’t, perhaps, the most kind but it certainly felt fitting.  
  
The ship had reserves of water, but with supplies lower than he’d have preferred, and no immediate plan of stopping near another port, he hesitated to waste it on something like a bath. It was meant for drinking and for quick wash-ups, not to submerge himself in. There were plenty of natural creeks in the area. Plenty suitable to bathe the child in, but bathing himself presented a difficulty.   
  
Washing up had become a difficult task the past few days as it was; it was nearly impossible to have a few moments alone to himself without the baby seeking his attention. Even putting it inside its own bunk, it manage to escape out and hunt him down with remarkable ease for something so small and seemingly helpless. However, if he’d thought it difficult to tend to himself _then_ , it was nothing to _now_.  
  
He couldn’t set the baby down. He couldn’t so much as lift the child off of his chest without it digging its tiny fingers in tighter and whimpering. And that _feeling_ in his chest threatened to overspill at the sounds the infant made at the attempts at separation. It hurt to hear them, and that hurt irritated him all the more. He felt exasperated, and tired, and hot.  
  
There was no privacy out here; there was nowhere he could pull the armor or helmet off; and he dare not do strip down outside of the privacy of his ship anyways. Not when they’d already been under attack once. It’d only take one enemy to sneak up on him to break the creed. The shame would kill him even if the attacker didn’t. Even more pressing was that he wouldn’t be able to undress with the child so close at hand. It was already far too close to the underside of his helmet for his comfort, and the paranoia of that alone was eating at him.  
  
He could have removed the child forcibly. It had a surprising strength to its small grip, but nothing that gave him anything close to a challenge. It’d have been _easy_ to set it down, and yet he didn’t. The thought of it, of hearing that cry and seeing that desperate look, ate at him.  
  
“I’ve got you, kid.” He told it softly, trying to peel it off of his armor again, as he knelt beside one of the streams. It wasn’t deep enough to stand in, but if he sat he thought it might come up to at least his shoulders. Not ideal; and when he tested it with a bare hand, he found it was lukewarm instead of the cold he’d been hoping for. Better for the child, but he’d have given a great deal to cool down. “You can let go, I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
If it understood, it didn’t give any sign. The large brown eyes stared up, pleading and wide and watering. The Mandalorian sighed. Fine then. _Fine_.  
  
“What the hell. Alright, we’ll do this the hard way then.”  
  
He stepped carefully into the water, fully clothed and armored, and felt around with his boot to be certain of his footing. The bottom of the creek was only rocky but seemed stable enough for him to wade in further. The child had turned to examine the water and began to babble at him. He wasn’t certain if it was from excitement or fear or uncertainty. It seemed… _energetic,_ even if it didn’t let go of him.  
  
The lukewarm water rose as he knelt down into the creek, clinging the fabric of his flightsuit to him like a second skin. The armor was waterproof; he’d taken enough bounties on water worlds to plan for submersion. He wasn’t worried about damaging his equipment, but the sensation of bathing clothed was uncomfortable. The heat of the water didn’t feel cold and refreshing, or even hot and relaxing. It just sat against his skin unpleasantly.  
  
He tested the water against one of the muddy green feet poking out from beneath the sack-like shift to make certain the child wouldn’t take issue with it. It kicked idly at the sensation, but didn’t seem to care either way, and so he lowered them down fully. Immediately, they were saturated; the coverings of the infant soaking up the tepid water.  
  
It didn’t feel relaxing to him; the softparts of his armor clung to his skin and felt just as clammy as they already had. The mud was coming off of him, however; he supposed this was certainly a expedient way to clean off. He could count on one hand the number of times he had taken an actual bath in years. The child, however, had let one of his hands go and was pawing at the water curiously, a gurgling coo escaping him. The other was still fisted tightly at his flak vest.  
  
Progress. At the rate this was going, he might be able to have even one minute to himself in a few days.  
  
“It’s getting to be a habit with you and mud.” The Mandalorian said to the little one, reaching up a gloved hand and wiping some of the dirt of the child’s face. It gave that growling, rumbling sound and his ears twitched. Whether that was good or bad, he wasn’t entirely certain. “We’ll have to stick to tundras from now on.”  
  
It liked it when he spoke to it; he’d found that out weeks ago. It always turned its head to watch him when he talked. It sometimes babbled back, but it did that even when he didn’t speak, so he wasn’t certain if it was really trying to communicate anything to him. Mostly, it just seemed curious.  
  
It stared at him now, with those large eyes and the scratched ear hanging slightly lower than the other one. Slowly, it reached a hand up, extending outwards- and for a moment, he felt a stab of alarm. He’d seen before what this child was capable of with that hand and that _whatever it was_ that it could do with its mind. However, it only reached out and pressed the tiny paw against the _beskar_ of his helmet. When it drew away, the fingers were coated in mud.  
  
“Yes, I’m covered too.” The Mandalorian felt his lips twitch, just a little. That feeling in him was warm. The child cooed and burbled and finally- _finally_ \- it fully let go of him. “You going to hold still while I get this off of you?” He tugged at the wet, muddy coverings.  
  
No. The answer to that was _no.  
  
_It took a moment or two to untangle the child’s arms from his clothing, and few more to safely extract it over the child’s head without it catching on his injured ear. It squalled a few times in what he thought might be annoyance, but settled quickly enough. It seemed fascinated by being so immersed in the running water, and contented itself quickly enough to splash and kick its tiny feet lightly against the current.  
  
Without clothing, it seemed _smaller_. It seemed so painfully vulnerable and defenseless that his chest lurched at the sight of it. He’d seen infants of many species, human and otherwise, but few this fragile. From the white fuzz on the top of its head, and the short green limbs, it looked helpless. The Mandalorian knew he’d never seen- or heard of- a creature like this before. He was certain that even the description would have warranted memorization.  
  
“We’ll see to that ear in a minute.” The child stared up and gave that murmuring gurgle, before squirming to rest its head upon his chest. There was a word for that feeling in him now. He just wished he knew what it was.  
  
Bathing the child was easy enough, now that it seemed done with playing- or whatever it had been doing. He wiped it down quickly, washing the mud and grime off of them both as best he could. His own clothing would require a more thorough clean when he had the chance, but he had spares of his softparts; His armor was easily wiped down; it shined a brilliant silver at the slightest touch. He’d detail it later, to make sure the mud was out of the circuitry, but it would do for the moment.  
  
The cooing had drifted off to a soft rumbling sound; the child had fallen asleep against his chest, one hand fisted into his cape and the other on the edge of his chestplate. Its eyes were closed, the almost rosy color of its eyelids giving it a delicate look. Good; it’d be easier to do what he had to do next this way. It’d been a rough day for the child, and he thought it might sleep heavily enough now to allow him a moment.  
  
Gingerly extracting himself from the small hands, he wrapped the naked infant into one of the blankets, bundling it up to prevent a chill. Babies were sensitive to things like that, right? It always seemed pleased when he wrapped it up after bathing it in the past. The child didn’t stir and simply slept on, shuffling further into the fabric.  
  
Flashing his HUD display, he examined the area warily. There were no threats that he could immediately see; the vermin hadn’t returned and he hoped they were properly scared off now. It might be safe, just for a moment.  
  
With a gasp of breath, he ducked down just enough to submerge his head beneath the water, and held his helmet above him, level with the surface.  
  
It wasn’t ideal; he couldn’t properly scrub at his hair, which he was positive was caked with sweat, mud, and grease, and blood. He did the best he could one-handed in brief, few-second intervals, raising his head back into his helmet to examine his surroundings with a paranoid, cautious eye.  
  
The dirt coming off him clouded the water enough to obscure the majority of his head, and the helmet shielding him did the rest. There was blood crusting his jaw, which he scrubbed at roughly. Another at the nape of his neck- he hadn’t noticed that one until now. The hair at his jaw and cheeks were longer than he’d have preferred; he’d not had enough time alone to take care of it as he was used to doing.  
  
After he was certain he was as clean as he could reasonably get without disrobing, he dragged himself from the creek and scooped up the bundle of child. There was only a little bit of daylight left, and he still had work to do.  
  
It was only an hour or two later, leaning against the outer hull of the ship as the last of the Kowakian Monkey-Lizards roasted on the spit above their campfire, that the child began to stir again. One eye opened, and its ears flickered. He’d dressed it once more in its coverings, dry now from the fire, and even had a moment to change his own clothing while the baby napped.   
  
“Hungry?” He asked it, breaking off a piece of the meat he’d been nibbling on from beneath his helmet. He held out the piece and the child bit down with surprisingly sharp teeth. He’d learned quickly that its appetite was aggressive, and could usually be satiated the most by meat of some kind. Thus far, he hadn’t found anything toxic for the child, and dreaded the thought that he might.  
  
“Seems like fitting justice to me.” The Mandalorian murmured as he watched the Monkey-Lizard’s skin crack and spit from the heat of the open flames. “We can salt the rest, keep it stored for later. They’ll make for good survival rations.” A shame the creatures weren’t bigger, or he might have been able to tan the hides for trade.  
  
The child reached out, snagging his hand and the meat he held, bringing them both to his mouth to gnaw on. Drool soaked into his glove and the baby wetly babbled happily. Its ears- one with a stark white strip of bandage wrapped about it, rose and lowered. Normally, he’d have pulled himself away, uncomfortable with the familiarity of being some sort of chew toy. This time, however, he allowed it. It was still uncomfortable, but less so.  
  
He wasn’t entirely sure why that was.  
  
“There’s a rhyme I know, about survival.” He remembered it well; he’d been taught it early on as a Foundling. “It’s of the _Resol'nare_ , The Six Actions, and part of our tenets. I’ll teach it to you sometime. I learned it as a kid too.”  
  
He looked down at the child, but for once, it wasn’t looking back at him.  
  
Instead, it was staring towards the sky, mouth open in curiosity. A chill ran down his spine as he followed the child’s gaze upwards.  
  
The setting sun hadn’t dipped below the trees yet, but the skyscape was awash with dark, bold colors. Clouds, hazy and whispy, were tones of yellow and orange, and the rest of the sky was pink dipping into purple. At first, he though that was what had enraptured the child so. But then he too saw the movement darting between the cloud-cover.  
  
Large. Larger than any sort of bird.  
  
A ship.  
  


* * *

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Dictionary::
> 
> Buy'ce  
> — Mandalorian Helmet
> 
> Resol'nare  
> \- Six Actions comprised the core tenets of being a Mandalorian:  
> \--Wearing armor.  
> \--Speaking the language.  
> \--Defending yourself and your family.  
> \--Raising your children as Mandalorians.  
> \--Contributing to the clan's welfare.  
> \--When called upon by the Mand'alor, rallying to his cause.


	4. The Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious vessel trails silently behind the 'Crest, and its presence raises the alarms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is canon-divergent post Episode 6- The Prisoner. Elements of Season 2 may be lightly incorporated, but the plot of 'There is a Word' will differ greatly.

Steadily, the unknown vessel followed them.  
  
The furious dash to pack up camp and take flight had spiked the Mandalorian’s adrenaline and paranoia. The feeling was a familiar one; an old friend. The awareness of being hunted, and of being found, was like slipping on well-worn armor. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d been caught unaware, but the circumstances at present were less favorable. They’d been out in the open, easy prey for any passing ship to fire upon, and he found it inexcusable that he’d previously estimated the possibility of an attack to be low. Anything could have been in the trees, and there was every chance he’d wouldn’t have been able to reach the _‘Crest_ in time to defend them. Unacceptable; he knew better than to lower his guard like that. Not when alone, and certainly not with his charge.  
  
He’d thought- erroneously it seemed- that there to be very little likelihood of being tracked to Kowak. Such an out-of-the-way planet, rarely traveled to. Home to only beasts and the rare researcher more focused on the pursuit of discovery than the pursuit of battle. They were on the run; he hadn’t forgotten this, but the lull in activity had eased some of his paranoia. There were only so many ways they could track the child, and he’d thought that they couldn’t follow him everywhere. Sorgan could have been a fluke; he’d make a spectacle of himself there and word got around quickly. People _talked_. It wouldn’t have taken much to attract the attention of the Guild. One needed to only describe his armor to garner their interest; he was unavoidably recognizable, as was the child he kept at his side. But here, with only beasts around, there was no one to report him and the child.  
  
But they had come for him all the same.  
  
They should not have found him here. It was even more backwater and wild than Sorgan had been; there was no one to talk or spread tales- certainly not within a day of arrival. And yet, there it was. A vessel trailing like a bird of prey for its next meal. It hadn’t hailed him; he wasn’t detecting an incoming transmission on any frequency. It hadn’t attacked yet, although it had previously held the element of surprise.  
  
No, it simply trailed silently behind, maintaining a distance. A distance, he’d calculated carefully, that was just beyond his weapon range.  
  
At first glance, he could have mistaken the arriving ship as merely a personal vessel; this planet wasn’t often inhabited by other races, but he knew that scientists found some small fascinations here among the wildlife. It could have been a research voyage. It could have been some sort of data gathering crew.  
  
It’d only taken a moment of analyzing the situation, as he smothered the flames of the fire and gathered the makeshift camp together, to know that wasn’t the case. The ship had been keeping to the clouds, darting in and out of cover. It was moving slowly enough to prevent sound giving it away- what seemed to be a conscious choice. Any other vessel would have landed already, not played games in the sky. Not a research team. Not scientists. It had circled overhead a number of times, before pursing as the _Razor Crest_ left atmosphere.  
  
He was angry at himself- _furious even-_ that he’d not noticed its immediate arrival. He was better than that; his training had given him the skills and the paranoia to know how to effectively keep alert of his surroundings at all times. There was no excuse for his inattention, and he vowed it wouldn’t happen again.  
  
This was happening with frustrating and unacceptable frequency; his preoccupation. The child had been more of a distraction to him than he’d thought it would be, demanding far too much of his time and focus. More and more, he came to understand that this life wasn’t suited for the infant. That _he_ wasn’t suited to care for something that needed such close care and attention. They’d been attacked more than once since Nevarro. Too many close calls. Too many mistakes.  
  
He wasn’t used to feeling inadequate and found to not be to his taste at all.  
  
The _‘Crest_ propelled through the black of space, only jerking slightly beneath his palms as he navigated. The portside thruster was out of alignment. Fixing it had been on his list of tasks to complete planetside, before things had gone to disaster. Another problem he’d been forced to ignore in favor of tending to the child; he was beginning to feel them build up alarmingly quickly. One responsibility after another, being shoved to the side. He wasn’t accustomed to this; putting off work to tend to someone else. He never put off his tasks to tend to even himself.  
  
The Mandalorian knew his life well; knew the order and control of it. It was simple and silent. Work. Train. Work. He’d crafted it carefully for himself, built the neatness and structure into the very hull of his ship and to his exact specification. Interruptions were to be swiftly dealt with, and not to be borne for long. Any deviation from the plan was calculated and taken with careful consideration. There was little room for another in the grueling flow of his world, and especially not for a child.  
  
Being hunted was not unfamiliar to him; it was old hat as far as experiences went. He’d been betrayed, tracked, and forced to fight for his life many times before. Some battles were memorable, most were not. He’d trained for such things; knowing that the galaxy held a certain balance. Life and death ran parallel in this universe, it was easily to slip to either side of it.  
  
He invited it often; the feeling of being prey. It kept him in check, and it presented a challenge to improve himself. It kept his blood racing. There was no failure in being bested by skills superior to his own. If he lost, then he could rest knowing he had fought to the end. A warrior’s death was honorable. If he won, he deserved the win. Another day fighting to be alive was another day worthy of being so; he didn’t tolerate useless things, himself included.  
  
Not in years had he felt as unbalanced as he did now. The game he often played with death had now a third player, and one that didn’t have a hope of winning on its own. To be hunted and tracked didn’t risk only his own life, but that of the child’s, and that _changed_ things.  
  
The sensations of being hunted- of the paranoia itching at the back of his neck and the blood pounding in his veins- often stilled something unsettled in him. He only ever became aware of the feeling in its absence. A creeping, restless part of him that went quiet and satisfied during the chase. It drove him more often than not, forcing him to action rather than stillness. It focused the mind to a goal and the means of achieving it.  
  
He missed the silence. He missed the solitude of the life he’d carefully crafted for himself. He missed the freedom of being alone. Even in those calm moments between hunts, he kept focus. Whether it be training, repairing, or mapping, he’d crafted himself into a creature of purpose.  
  
But now, the restless thing in him wasn’t appeased in the heat of the chase. Not this time. No, it prowled and made itself known in a cold chill in the pit of his gut. He was perceptive, of course. He knew what had changed.  
  
“You stay put.” The Mandalorian had instructed severely, as he’d firmly set the child down in the seat behind his console. The baby had stared up at him, and he hadn’t bothered to check if there was comprehension there or not. He rather suspected there wouldn’t be anything other than a fixed fascination that it was being spoken to at all, rather than an understanding of the words themselves. Thus far, it hadn’t tried to squall for attention or climb into his lap, and he took advantage of the relative silence to focus. Perhaps it understood the urgency of being pursued. It seemed to be perceptive enough, from his careful observation.  
  
The paranoia was eating at him, the longer that nothing happened. He wished the other vessel would fire on him. He wished it would give him some indication of its purpose, other than to simply follow silently and placidly behind. The lack of information was more dangerous than not. An unknown enemy would always be worse. It made forming a plan of action difficult, and his mind sharpened with possibilities. A scout? A hunter? An imperial?  
  
Everything in him wanted to stop, to turn, to fight. To engage without hesitation, as he would have done before. He knew how to take care of himself and his ship on his own; this was not the first time he’d been followed in his life. But he was not alone, and he didn’t have only himself to think of. If he lost, it wouldn’t be only his death.  
  
The thought was there, in the back of his mind. A niggling, eating thought that begged to ask _why_ he cared so much what happened to the child. It was the same thought he’d had as they fled Nevarro. Saving the baby had seemed to be the only logical choice, and perhaps it was. He’d acted with honor and had rescued a being that had saved his own life. That tied them together, as his creed demanded. He tried to pretend it was only honor that kept him as committed as he was.  
  
Regardless, he knew himself well enough to know he wasn’t a fit guardian or minder for the little one. He didn’t have the patience or the personality to care for a babe; there was a reason he hadn’t taken on any Foundlings into his personal protection to train. There were others better suited for such tasks; more patient, and more understanding than he, and so he went the solitary way. He served his clan, he served his creed, and he served the neat life he’d carved out for himself, but he served it alone.  
  
He felt trapped, The Mandalorian realized, glancing from his console to the child who was staring back at him with large eyes. He felt trapped on this new path, where the silence and isolation he desperately wanted were the two things he had to abandon. He was not made for this kind of path, to guard and care for another. He was not made for long hours in the presence of company. He was not made for the life the child deserved.  
  
There was no relaxing. There was no meditation or stillness. There was no peace or balance or order. He was used to chaos in his world. He was used to the violence and mess of the galaxy, and he had carved his own bloody swath through it just as much as anyone did. But the chaos of now, of _this_ small child, was something his experience didn’t cover. The lack of structure left him feeling uncontrolled and sloppy.  
  
And that _damned_ _feeling_ in his gut and chest, the one that always threatened to suffocate him. It stole the breath out of his lungs sometimes, when the child reached out a hand to grab his own, or when it rested its head on his chest to sleep. It pounded at him to the core, heavy and wrenching. He wanted that feeling to go away and to never return. It was messy and complicated in a way he didn’t know how to fully explain, and it had no place in this life he’d made for himself.  
  
It reminded him of a time, when he’d been only a child, where he’d felt something similar. He’d done everything in his power to bury that time as deeply as he could manage. To smother it down into the dark where it couldn’t haunt at his thoughts. That something like it should emerge, fresh and hurting, was abhorrent. Those sort of emotions didn’t serve a purpose in this life; tenderness was a weakness when among the wolves.  
  
He scowled behind his _Buy'ce,_ the darkened visor hiding the expression from his own reflection in the viewport of the cockpit. The desire to protect the child was raging still, even through his attempts to rationalize it. The emotionalism was distracting him, at a point where distractions were deadly.  
  
His fingers itched to act. To strike. To fight. That pit in his gut begged to be cautious and to flee. He’d never been one to run, and it grated on him that the thought occurred at all. This wasn’t like him. _None of this_ was like him.  
  
“The hell with it.” He snapped, and his fingers flew over the controls, engaging the thrusters and coming to an abrupt stop. Kowak far behind them now, the black of space surrounded the _‘Crest_ entirely, swallowing them in the pinpricks of distant stars. Although the ship was behind and out of his direct sight, the ship sensors told him that it had similarly halted, drifting to maintain a careful and consistent distance.  
  
It was something to _do_ , other than running. A standoff wasn’t ideal, but he’d always been better at action rather than reaction. Patience had never been a mastered skill of his, for all that he could force it.  
  
“If this turns into a dogfight, you need to hang on.” He warned the child, who was cooing at being spoken to. He checked to make certain it was still where he’d put it. The small ears, one still bandaged, were perked up and the baby stared up at him, small green hands reaching out. “No. Not to me. I need to focus.”  
  
The Mandalorian maneuvered his ship around, facing directly to the unknown vessel. From this close range, he could see that it lacked a visible viewport. The make of it wasn’t familiar to him; it was sleek but small. Smaller than his own, and made of a dark, muddy grey coloring. Something that would blend into the blackness of space, if one weren’t paying close enough attention to their surroundings. It was a craft made to be invisible to the naked eye, and to most sensors- ones less powerful or thorough than his own- he knew it would go unnoticed entirely.  
  
He stared at it for a long moment, before turning to his communications panel to hail it on all known short-range frequencies.  
  
“Identify yourself, unknown vessel.” He commanded in a steely, dark tone. The baby behind him babbled and he could see in his peripherals that it had cocked its head to the side to listen. He’d noticed that during times of crisis, it seemed focused on his actions. On the battle or the viewport or the firefight. It never seemed frightened, only intrigued, and it made that _feeling_ in him throb at the thought that it had likely seen far, far too much violence over the years to worry. _Desensitized_ , was the word that came time mind.  
  
It took only a moment for a response to return. A mechanical, hollow voice spoke out over his COMM unit, emotionless and monotone in its delivery.  
  
“ _Designation: 1G-102. Broadcasting coordinates enabled._ _”  
  
_Something cold and chilling took root in him, spreading through his veins like ice. It grit his teeth until they felt like they were going to crack, and he went rigid in his seat. The vessel wasn’t manned then. Not by any biological mind, at least. No, he had a feeling he knew exactly what this was. The thought- the _knowledge-_ that it was following him made his gut churn and his pulse race. Disgust and fury warred to take priority.  
  
He’d knew these vessels had been used before, during the rule of the Empire, and for a short duration after its collapse. He’d never seen one himself, but he knew them by name. A _Long Pursuit Scout_ , they called them in the field. Extremely difficult to come by these days, and they were impossibly expensive if you did. A machine-piloted ship with no weapons, no life support, and no intelligence. Only one single mission and the singular goal to complete it or be destroyed. It could and would pursue the target endlessly, transmitting its location to its commander. A ship made of nothing but circuits and a large, large supply of fuel that would outlast most manned vessels.  
  
It was the perfect tracker- it would never rest or pause, had no need for sleep or food, and would continue until elimination.  
  
No bounty hunter he knew had ever bothered with them; what ones still existed often had unexpected malfunctions, and it took the thrill of the job away anyways. One didn’t walk the path they did without taking some sort of satisfaction in the hunt. The focus and drive it gave him, he found nowhere else. To outsource it to a machine- to a _droid_ \- was repulsive to him and went against the fabric of the life he’d built for himself.  
  
Someone had programmed the _L-P-S_ to follow him, and it would broadcast his location better than any homing beacon would. He’d expected to be found eventually- this was inevitable. But this spoke of a rich hunter, someone far wealthier than his Client had been. An ex-Imperial hiding in a cesspit like Nevarro wouldn’t have had the wealth to buy something like this.  
  
He turned, glancing back at the child. It was uncommonly silent and still and seemed to be content watching. Perhaps it sensed that this was dangerous too, picking up the cues from his own tense posture. Not for the first time, he felt trepidation in him for this new path of his. He was used to being hunted… for a time. Thus far, he’d always managed to avoid becoming prey to his pursuer.  
  
This felt far too much like being stalked down like an animal for the slaughter. Relentlessly followed until he would collapse from exhaustion. It was how most early civilizations had first gained the advantage on native beasts. Not from being smarter, or faster, or stronger. But for simply enduring _longer_ than the animal could.  
  
A machine could endure for a very long time.  
  
Teeth gritting tightly beneath his _Buy_ _’ce_ , the Mandalorian accelerated the ‘ _Crest_ forward and in turn, the _L-P-S_ drifted to maintain its distance from him. He knew it would continue to do so. It had calculated his weaponry aboard and knew what range to stay at. He knew he was a good pilot; he’d been flying for years now and in bad conditions at that. But a _droid_ would always be better, calculating faster than any brain could ever hope to match.  
  
If he could get it close enough to fire on… even just a few shots, he might have a chance to escape it, if not destroy it entirely. They weren’t built for fighting, but whoever programed it likely _was_. How far away were they, these unknown hunters? And how well-connected were they that they could afford something like this? This required connections far outside some ex-Imperial warlord hunkering down in a cesspit of a planet. Wealth could buy a lot, but mere riches alone couldn’t buy this level of tech.   
  
He’d faced down the Empire before. He’d faced down the Rebellion, and the New Republic as well. He’d had bad odds in the past and had taken on missions that could have been catastrophic save for his sheer determination to see it through. He hadn’t faced _this_ before. This relentless pursuit across the galaxy. Tracking him from backwater planet to backwater planet. All for something so small.  
  
Again, the Mandalorian glanced behind him at the small creature. It was switching its attention between the console switchboard and looking out the port-side windows at the stars, and didn’t seem to realize how much danger it was in. Such a little thing to have caused such chaos. He hadn’t yet found out its importance, or what his client had wanted with it. The sight of the medical syringes had been enough to guess that it wasn’t anything that would benefit the child. Experimentation? Organs? They’d been attempting to collect something, and he hadn’t waiting to learn what that something was.  
  
“You’re causing a lot of problems for me, you know that?” He asked the child, who directed his wide gaze on him once more. Its mouth opened and it babbled at him nonsensically. There _was_ intelligence there, of a kind- or at least instinct. He’d seen it lift the Mudhorn with its mind to save his life; that required a certain amount of awareness, right?It had largely ignored all directions he’d given it, so it didn’t seem to comprehend instruction, or perhaps chose not to do so. It looked at him when he spoke, walked to him when it wanted attention, and climbed into his lap to rest when it was tired.  
  
Such a small thing to cause so much trouble.  
  
There was little he could do about the _L-P-S_ trailing after him; it calculated his course far too quickly to be able to outmaneuver it, and it remained just on the other side of the _‘Crest_ ’s range. He couldn’t outrun it, and he couldn’t fire at it. It would continue to follow him until its master finally caught up. Anyone who could afford a _Long Pursuit Scout_ wasn’t an enemy he was rushing to meet.  
  
There were options, of course. Few though they might be, there _were_ options. He could try to fight, but these weren’t good odds. He was responsible for the baby’s life; that _meant_ something, even if he weren’t sure what that something was.  
  
He could surrender; wait until they were found and deal with it accordingly. He could abandon the child planetside; they seemed to have no issue tracking it- he was certain it’d be picked up in short order and hopefully leave him well out of the conflict. All of those reeked unpleasantly of dishonor, though. He’d taken the responsibility of this small creature when he’d rescued it, just as another had once done for him. He hadn’t been abandoned then, even at the worst of it, and to not pay that forward seemed disgraceful.  
  
And he found he… _couldn’t_. He remembered the feeling of sitting in the dark, arms outstretched, as his entire life burnt around him. He remembered listening to the firefight through the closed doors. He remembered the realization that they were _leaving_ , and that he was being left alone. To do that to another- to do that to a _child_ … he couldn’t. It would stretch its small arms out for him, as it always did when seeking comfort or if he wandered too far away from its range. And he would have to make the conscious choice to turn and walk away, leaving the infant in the distance, step by step. It would watch him leave and know that it was alone. The details of that day in the storage bunker were foggy, but that _feeling_ had never faded. The feeling of abandonment.  
  
No.  
  
_No_.  
  
Running was the only acceptable option, even as it made his blood boil to think about. Retreating was a smart plan; one that would likely allow them to live another day. He hadn’t ever been good at running, or at hiding either. He’d always maintained a preference to face his battles and fight through them to the best of his ability. Thus far, his abilities had proven enough. Whether that would hold true this time, he was less certain.  
  
So few options to chose from. What he needed now was _time_. Time to grasp at any other solution. He _knew_ what it was like to be hunted and stalked; he knew that time was his most valuable weapon now. Delay as much as possible to find an advantage.  
  
How long would it take for the hunters to arrive? They were surely on their way now; the _L-P-S_ had been broadcasting its coordinates for some time. Even through the distortion of space, it should have already reached them.  
  
The Mandalorian paused and glanced down at his console. _Distortion_. Yes. Outrunning the _L-P-S_ was not possible in these circumstances. To think on that any further at this point was a waste of time, and he needed every second he could get. But he didn’t need to outrun the ship- it on its own was no threat to him. It had neither weaponry nor defense. No, he only needed to prevent it from broadcasting clearly.  
  
“This could get rough. You’re going to need to hold on.” He turned to the child, to ensure he was well secured in the case of sudden shifting. Those wide eyes stared back at him, and although it didn’t make a sound, it seemed say without words that it _trusted_ him. Trusted him to keep it safe. Whatever would happen next, it wasn’t afraid; just stared at him with those large, innocent eyes. The realization was like a weight in his chest, suffocating him suddenly with a rush of feeling he couldn’t put a name to. Warm and terrified and pounding.  
  
When he turned back to the console, his throat felt tight and he had to clear it once to gather himself. Beneath the helm, his eyes narrowed. _Focus_. The child was a distraction. The child was a dangerous, potentially deadly distraction. A chaos that had shaken his carefully crafted and rigid life. He needed to focus. He _needed to focus._ There would be a time later, in the still darkness of space, where he would be able to contemplate on this, but now wasn’t it. No, he had to ignore the child behind him, or there wouldn’t be a later at all.  
  
The blackness was spotted with pinpricks of light; stars blazing somewhere far, far away. Some closer, some further. But there was one; he sought it with swift fingers on the controls of his console. One star in particular. Unstable and volatile and deadly, but perhaps exactly what he needed now. The unpredictable had become his normal; it grated on him something terribly.  
  
All that control, all that structure he’d so neatly maintained over the years, and now he was flying into the madness. Hunted, on the run, and with so few places to hide. He could no longer rely on his past experiences, nor his carefully controlled life. There was no strict schedule of training and maintenance, there was no job to dedication himself too, and no clan to welcome his return. Just chaos- messy and unpredictable.  
  
There was a low coo at his back.  
  
He didn’t turn around.  
  


* * *

**  
To be continued..**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a wild past year due to the plague, and I work in a children's behavioral facility that got hit by it pretty hard! My deepest apologies for the time it took to update this story; it has not been forgotten and will continue to be updated with much greater frequency! There is a Word disregards Season 2, although may selectively borrow concepts or elements of it. Thus far, the entire story is plotted out and has been before Season 2 aired, so while I may incorporate some new information Season 2 revealed, I'll be sticking with out prewritten outline. Thank you for waiting patiently!
> 
> Mando'a Dictionary::
> 
> Buy'ce  
> \-- Mandalorian Helmet


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